legionworld | Diagnostics

Who| The Chief and anyone
What| Checking the armor
Where| The labs
When| The day after getting out of medical
Warnings/Notes| -

The MJOLNIR suit lay on the table like a patient for autopsy as the Chief picked over it. They’d released him from medical and told him to take it easy for a few days, and after he’d slept and ate and confirmed (four times, with four different and increasingly exasperated people) that there was absolutely no way for him to communicate with Command, he’d immediately run out of activities that felt worthwhile.

This was as close as he could get to feeling productive and, given the alternative was just letting his thoughts spin, he’d take it.

The array of tools the Legion had at hand were beyond his imagination and, if he were honest, his comprehension. Someone would have to explain at least some of it to him if he were going to keep at it, but that was a bridge to cross when he’d gotten through with assessing the suit’s condition and seeing what actually needed work.

After cataloguing all the new surface damage, he took a step back to just look at this heap of metal. The Chief wasn’t a sentimental person about his equipment, or at least he didn’t think he was. Even so, standing here in another world with another unknown struggle yawning ahead, he realized just how much he appreciated the familiar machine that had kept him alive.

Something had changed. His perspective, maybe.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh. Neural implants being standard for soldiers was...uncomfortable, he thought, and that was after he'd literally been a robot for a few weeks. Maybe getting something installed was less weird than having your entire mind put into something else, sure, but the idea of everyone having to do it as a matter of course, regardless of personal feelings on it...

Then again, there wasn't much about the military lifestyle that sat well with Donnie to begin with. Taking orders from Leo had been bad enough at first, even if they'd come to a better understanding among themselves - Leo listened to objections, worked with them when they weren't unfounded.

Taking orders without question from who-even-knows? Totally not his style.

"Well, I'm from Earth, circa the early 21st century - if that means anything." His tone said he wasn't expecting it to. "So...manned space travel is a thing, but not any farther than our moon. AI is pretty basic compared to what I'd guess you're used to; full AI's still a goal but some narrow AI is pretty decent. Combat's still mostly ballistics, rules of engagement usually discourage nukes or chemical or bio-weapons..."

"26th century here," the Chief supplied. "But if you're from Earth, I can already tell you it's different from where we came from."

Because. Clearly a teenaged alien.

"Before the Covenant showed up, we were more concerned with getting around faster than finding new ways to blow each other up. Better engines. Slipspace travel. AIs smart enough and quick enough to do all the calculations to make that safer. Things were starting to get rough out in the colonies, but getting around faster would solve part of that anyway. People don't like it when the government making decisions about them is a couple months' travel away. Big surprise, never happened before."

He didn't smile, because "the Chief didn't smile" was a statement of general fact, but there was a brief flicker of a joke in his eyes. The Chief was no historian, but he knew the American Revolution should be near enough in memory for reference. Most of his education about the past had been strung between long-gone wars, landmarks in time all the way back to Sparta and the soldiers that had given his unit its name.

"It might not be as different as you'd think. I'm...the kind of exception that almost nobody knows exists." And while he was reasonably sure there were a lot of pretty far out variants on Earth that had to exist - and statistically, it was almost certain that everyone here came from different ones - Earth did seem to follow some pretty predictable patterns.

Patterns that fit pretty well in with the one he knew, where most thought mutants were the stuff of science fiction, nothing more.

But that was said more as an aside, almost as if he were waving that thought out of the way as he said it, because hearing about the future was a lot more interesting than having the yes, I exist but no, you weren't supposed to know about it conversation. "How far out have you colonized? Slipspace sounds like that's how you're getting around the lightspeed problem, right? So...other systems entirely?"

~*~so cool~*~, you could practically see the stars in his eyes.

"I won't ask if you're not at liberty to talk about it," the Chief replied. His instinct said either classified, or just unlucky. Either one would be reason enough to want to let it go.

Talking about how landmark technological breakthroughs worked was easier than getting into identity on anyone's side.

"Slipspace is..." The Chief considered, then held out one hand flat, palm up.

"You need to get from Sol to Epsilon Eridani." He tapped his palm near the wrist, and the tip of his middle finger. "Problem is, that's over ten lightyears in normal space. But with a Shaw-Fujikawa drive, instead you punch through into Slipspace."

He curled his fingers in to close the gap.

"Slipspace is... crunched up compared to normal space. Things are closer. A physicist could tell you better, it's not my field."

"So you jump to Slipspace, travel a shorter distance, then when you're where you need to be you jump back."

He opened his hand again.

"That could still take you a couple of months, so you put most of your crew in cryogenic suspension and wake them up when you get there. We had over eight hundred planets along the Orion Arm, before the war. Would've been impossible without the drive."

The Chief eyed the rest of the lab speculatively as he let his arm hang again. "I'm sure these guys would think it's all pretty crude."

Like the suit of armor on the table. Like him.

"That's their loss."

He rested his elbows on the edge of the table and leaned in - still keeping enough distance to clearly not touch the suit, because even science wasn't enough to completely airlock his sense of respect for other peoples' property.

"Even if something's not as advanced as what you're used to, if you start thinking of it like nothing...that's just forgetting the entire point of science."

The point of science being that everything is awesome.

"They may think it's pretty basic, but they also got to stand on a lot of peoples' shoulders to start this far ahead of us."

"Enough centuries will do that," the Chief agreed. To be fair, it was almost impossible to imagine life before things they took for granted like electricity. It must've been the same for these people looking back.

He noticed Donatello's restrained eagerness, and finally arrived at a snap decision.

"You can touch it. I could actually use some help with these diagnostics, if you wanted."

Then he realized there was a question it was probably polite to ask by this point...

"What's your name?"

"For real?" If there was already something bright about the way Donnie was eyeing the suit, being invited to touch it was enough to make him light up like a Christmas tree.

...ah.

But they were forgetting something, weren't they.

"I'm Donatello, nice to meet you."

"Likewise. Officially I'm the Master Chief," he said, "but 'Chief' is shorter. It's what I'm used to." It was weird not introducing himself by his full UNSC designation, meaningless as it was to the people here. Even then, he'd still hung onto the rank anyway. It was more of a name to him now than anything else had been.

That done, he nodded to the suit. "Yes. I could use a hand getting this thing back in order, and if you want to have a look anyway, you can pay me back by helping this to quicker."

That and there was just no reason not to encourage a kid who clearly loved technology. He didn't seem the type to break anything. It couldn't hurt.

It was a little unusual, but it wasn't like Donnie was in the position to judge about weird names when his dad was called Splinter.

"Gladly. So - are you up to diagnostics yet, or still checking on the surface condition?"

Diagnostics

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